


Kryptonite Smile

by morganoconner



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-23
Updated: 2010-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:31:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Misha is not a teenage girl, he swears, even if Richard’s smile does make his knees go weak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kryptonite Smile

Misha spends an inordinate amount of time thinking of ways to try to ask Richard out on a date. It doesn’t make a lick of sense, because until now, until _Richard_ , Misha had always considered himself fairly smooth. He’s never had trouble with flirtation, or seduction, or any of it. When Misha’s attracted to someone, he has no trouble letting them know it. And hey, if they’re not interested, no harm done, and normally they part as friends. Misha is charming by nature, with a smile he doesn’t have to fight to keep hold of and a ready joke whenever the occasion calls for it.

Except now, because apparently Richard Speight Jr. is his version of kryptonite. Misha’s been gone for the guy since he first walked on set while filming season five, and now, halfway through season six, he’s still utterly failed at doing a single thing about it.

It’s ridiculous. He’s willing to bet Jared and Jensen never have these kinds of problems. Then again, Jared and Jensen probably don’t spend over a year mooning over the show’s guest stars, either. Not now that they have their wives to go home to, certainly, but they probably weren’t that dumb before their marriages either.

The thing is, if it was just that he _wanted_ Richard, it wouldn’t be a problem. Misha would turn on the charm, feel him out, see what would happen. It would be fun, an adventure to kill some time between work days. But no, of course it can’t be that simple. Misha had to go and _like_ the guy.

It’s that damned smile, he thinks. Richard’s smile just…does things to him. Crazy things that make his heart twist in new and inventive ways, make his body heat up and his hands want to reach out and touch….

He’s so screwed.

There’s one person on set that Richard’s become fast friends with over the years, and Misha decides it’s time to bite the bullet and go to him for advice.

He takes a breath, squares his shoulders, and leaves to find Jared.

***

He expects Jared’s incredulous laughter, but it still makes him cringe. He’s a mastermind poised and ready to take over the world, he should have been smarter than this, should have been _sneakier_.

His minions would be so disappointed in him right now.

He fixes his sternest glare on the younger man, who’s currently bent double, clutching his stomach as he continues to laugh. Misha sighs, glances at his watch. Five minutes now he’s had to endure this humiliation. Five minutes of his life he’ll certainly never get back.

He thinks maybe it’s time he found new friends.

Finally, after another thirty-seven seconds has gone by, Jared straightens, his eyes still sparkling, wide grin still firmly attached to his face as he considers Misha. Misha, who is still glaring.

“Oh, c’mon, Mish,” Jared says, his tone placating. “You didn’t really expect I wouldn’t find _some_ humor here, right? I mean…really?”

Misha crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow.

Jared lets out another snort of laughter. “All right, all right. Seriously man, if you like Richard, of course I think you should go for it. Hell, you’ve both been single for so long it could really only do you some good. And I mean, as for _how_ …well, how hard can it be to ask the guy out?”

Misha sighs. “You’re his friend, Jared. You know the type of stuff he likes. Pretend I’m clueless.” He is. “Pretend I’ve got no idea what I’m doing.” He doesn’t. “Pretend if you don’t help me, Richard is going to laugh me off the planet.” He probably won’t, but it will be a close thing.

Jared tilts his head. “You’re really serious about this, huh?”

“Jared.” Misha sighs again, rolling his eyes. “Do you really think I’d be here, talking to you, humiliating myself this way, if I wasn’t?”

Jared thinks about it. “That’s a really good point.”

***

 

In the end, Jared asks him for time to think about it, which Misha agrees to before slinking away as gracefully as possible. He gets through a morning of shooting without too much trouble, barely even has time to _look_ at Richard, let alone try and talk to the guy, and he figures that’s probably for the best right now.

Jared’s obviously a quick thinker though, because they’re all standing in front of Craft Services around lunchtime when the younger man catches his eye and winks, and a feeling of dread settles over Misha. He tries to send Jared several mental demands to cease and desist whatever it is he’s about to do, but Misha’s powers of telepathy are regrettably severely underdeveloped, and he can only watch with a growing sense of horror as Jared calls out a, “Hey, Rich!” and tosses a soda to Richard, who’s standing a few yards away.

Richard turns, catches the soda easily and grins. “What’s up, Padalecki?” he says, sauntering over. He nods a greeting, complete with kryptonite smile, at Misha, and Misha tries very hard not to blush and look away like a sixteen year old fangirl.

Actually, come to think of it, he’s pretty sure even his younger minions wouldn’t be half this pathetic.

“Hey, you’re free tonight, right?” Jared asks. “’Cause Misha here’s been bugging me and Jen about trying out this new restaurant he heard about, but we’re booked solid all week.”

Misha hadn’t known there _was_ a new restaurant to be interested in trying out.

Richard smiles at him again, and Misha forces a nonchalant shrug while his knees threaten to liquefy on him. “Yeah, I’ve got no plans, why not,” Richard agrees. “What time?”

His brain isn’t even remotely working right, but Misha manages to convince it to remember that they should wrap by six, and he’s going to want a chance to get cleaned up and have a proper chance to panic first. “Eight o’clock too late?” he asks.

“Nah, that’s perfect,” Richard replies. He snags a quick lunch, grins brightly at both of them. “Cool. Catch ya later then, Collins.”

And then he’s gone, and Jared’s smirking at Misha, and Misha tries to recall when exactly he became this pitiful.

He refuses to thank Jared.

 _Refuses_ , damn it.

***

They end up finishing closer to seven, which doesn’t leave Misha nearly as much time to panic as he’d hoped to have, but in hindsight, he decides that’s okay. He makes it to his apartment in a record twelve minutes, throws on the first outfit he finds that he thinks hopefully looks decent. He wavers on whether or not to include a tie with the soft black button-down shirt before he eventually vetoes it. Then he checks his phone and finds a text from Jared with directions to the restaurant and a winking emoticon. He decides that Jared really is an okay guy and he guesses he can forgive him for reminding Misha of what it was like to be an awkward teenager.

Not that Misha was an awkward teenager.

Ever.

Traffic is with him this late on a weekday, and he makes it to the restaurant – a little Italian place simply called _Amore_ , Jesus Christ – with five minutes to spare. Looking in the window at the intimate, cozy little tables and the dim lighting, Misha suddenly isn’t feeling so charitable toward Jared. He may, in fact, kill the younger man. Slowly.

He parks the car and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, wondering how he can in any way take control of this situation and make it work in his favor. Nothing comes to mind, and with a sigh, he exits the car and prepares to meet his humiliation head on, with dignity.

Or something like it.

Maybe.

Richard hasn’t arrived yet – unless, as Misha fears, he took one look at the place and drove away as fast as possible – so Misha allows the greeter to seat him in a secluded corner. He eyes the candle in the center of the table with trepidation…considers the merits of blowing it out and hiding it under the first empty table he can get to…but before he has the chance, Richard is being seated across from him, all crooked smiles and cheerful demeanor.

To his credit, Richard doesn’t say a word, and Misha’s content to play along like there’s nothing at all strange about this situation. They look over the menus, crack jokes about some of the dishes, greet the waiter warmly when he appears…

And then the waiter pulls a bottle of good wine from behind his back and smiles brightly, and Misha’s stomach drops again. “This comes to you compliments of a Mister Ackles, who apologizes for his and his friend’s absence, and hopes you are able to enjoy it without them.”

“Thank you,” Misha says, his voice a little weak.

Both of them. He’s going to kill both of them. With his bare hands, and he’ll find people who will help him hide the bodies. No, he won’t even need the help, he’s better than that.

Richard only raises an eyebrow as he pours, smile tugging at his lips. “That’s alarmingly nice of them. Makes me wonder what they’re cooking up.”

Oh, Richard. Poor, innocent Richard, getting dragged into this against his will and not even knowing it. Misha wants to lay his head down against the table and possibly just vanish, but instead he shakes his head, and mutters that whatever it is, it can’t be good.

For all of that, it’s surprising how nicely the dinner does go. There’s something about Richard that makes it impossible to hold onto any kind of stress or anxiety when he’s around, and by the time they’re almost done with their meal, they’re laughing together like the friends they’re supposed to be, instead of Misha feeling awkward and a little bit terrified.

He wishes, strongly, that this was actually a real date, because so far it would be pretty much perfect if it was.

Eventually, the waiter returns, asking if they’re interested in dessert, and Misha abruptly decides, _fuck it_ , and says, “We’ll have the tiramisu to share,” because he remembers that that’s one of Richard’s favorites. After he says it, after he _realizes_ he’s said it, he desperately wants to turn back time and undo it, but by then it’s far too late, and he can’t even _look_ at Richard to see what expression he’s wearing as their waiter walks away.

“Damn, Collins, you trying to get into my pants?”

Misha’s head snaps up, and his eyes track the lazy grin spreading across Richard’s face. “What? Course not.” The grin’s still there, and it’s got to be the kryptonite that makes him say the next thing. “Maybe.” And there’s the raised eyebrow, and Misha’s doomed. “All right, _yes_ , dammit. But not…not only…” It’s a shame he won’t be able to tweet his minions one last time before he dies of mortification.

Richard’s eyes have gone soft, and he leans back in his chair, still smiling that damn smile that started this whole mess in the first place. “Misha, are you trying to say that you _like_ me?”

“What are we, in middle school?” Misha looks away, takes a breath to try and brace himself. “And…maybe. If you’re not completely turned off by the idea.”

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this flustered,” Richard says. “I like it.”

Misha considers how many times it would take bashing his head against the table to knock himself unconscious. He’s still weighing the merits of doing so when a warm hand suddenly grasps his own, and he stares in shock at Richard’s fingers tangling with his. He looks up very slowly until he meets the other man’s warm gaze.

“Could’ve just _said_ something, you idiot,” Richard says, and there’s something like fondness in his tone that makes Misha’s heart stutter.

“I…” Misha Collins has been struck speechless. This is one for the history books.

Richard’s head tilts, his grin widening. “This whole thing…you went to Jared for _help_ , didn’t you?”

Misha groans, covering his face with his free hand. “Seriously, let’s never talk about that?” he mutters, and Richard’s laugh fills something inside of him that he hadn’t realized had been empty.

Their dessert arrives, but Misha barely tastes it, too caught up in staring at Richard. The sounds he’s making with every bite are practically pornographic, but it’s not even that that really gets Misha. It’s the light in his eyes, the smile the quirks his lips every time he glances up. If Misha thought he was screwed before, it’s nothing – _nothing_ – to how he feels now.

“Come for a walk with me,” Richard says, after they’ve finished the tiramisu and paid the check.

Misha nods because there’s not a universe that exists where he’d be able to say no, not when Richard’s honey-hazel eyes are focused on him so intently, not when that _goddamn_ smile is making his brain go all fuzzy and static-y.

A little ways down the street is the entrance to a small park Misha’s familiar with. At night, when the streets are quiet and there’s no one demanding his attention, this little place is his own fortress of solitude. He goes there mostly just to think, sometimes to stargaze, sometimes to meditate, sometimes just to stare at the pretty flowers. Small enough that it gets few visitors, there’s little more than some windings paths, a lot of trees and flowers interspersed with park benches and picnic tables, a few charming gazebos, and a children’s playground.

It’s the playground he drifts towards out of habit, and Richard lets him take the lead as they talk about everything and nothing. Misha’s hands are shoved in the pockets of his slacks, but that doesn’t last long because Richard uses his distraction with the night sky to grasp Misha’s wrist and tug, and then take his hand as soon as it’s free.

Misha gapes fish-like at him for a minute, but then Richard laughs and pulls him forward, and all he can do is continue on down the path, his hand warm and tingling, fingers entwined with Richard’s.

“Should we stop here?” Richard asks when they reach the playground. It’s dark, obviously, except for a few dimly-glowing lights along the path, and there’s not a soul around besides them.

Misha goes to the swings without answering, sits down on one as Richard releases his hand. His eyes close, the night air cool around him, the sounds of nighttime in Vancouver lost to the beating of his heart and Richard’s quiet rustling as he takes a seat on the other swing.

“So I have a confession to make,” Richard says conversationally. Misha opens his eyes and looks over, watches the older man pushing himself back and forth on the balls of his feet. Richard’s gazing out at some fixed point in the distance, a half-smile gracing his lips even though his eyes are distant. “I went to Jensen two weeks ago for advice on how to ask _you_ out.”

And just like that, Misha's world goes sideways, and it's a really good thing he's already sitting down, because that means that Richard had, had – "What did he say?" he hears himself ask, his voice somehow operating completely independent of his brain.

Richard's half-smile quirks again. "That I should ask you out for a nice dinner, and then drag you outside somewhere because nature makes you relax for some bizarre reason, and then just man the fuck up and kiss you already." He takes a deep breath, still staring fixedly into the dark.

Misha can't breath. He forgets to even try.

"So, I got one out of three. And…."

Richard trails off, and that's when it finally, finally hits Misha like the proverbial truck. Richard is nervous, too. Richard is possibly _more_ nervous than _Misha_ is – he's just been better at hiding it.

The freefall that Misha's stomach has been on for the past six months ends with an almost audible thump, and he's on nearly solid ground, feet almost under him. He reaches out and wraps his hand around the chain of Richard's swing, pulling them close. Richard looks at him, eyes glinting colorless in the dark, and his mouth –

God, that _mouth_. "Looks like I got one and you got one," Misha says in a voice that only shakes a tiny little bit. "You want to break the tie?"

There’s a long moment where they do nothing but stare at each other, all sound drowned out by the too-quick thumping of Misha’s heart and the rushing in his ears. And then they’re moving together, Misha’s grip on the chain tightening as his other hand comes to rest on Richard’s thigh. He feels Richard take hold of both of the chains of his swing and tug, but by then they’re already kissing, already lost in the feel of each other’s mouths slotting together, everything they’ve apparently both been wanting for too long.

It should be…anticlimactic, all the build-up and the tension and the expectation giving way under the reality, but it’s not. It’s _better_ , it’s everything Misha knew it would be and more, so much more. He’s dizzy with it, drunk on Richard, and God, if he’d known…if he’d had even an _inkling_ …he never would have waited this long. He doesn’t know how he’s lived without this, without Richard right here, swiping his tongue into Misha’s mouth, trembling at the moan Misha lets slip free.

Misha’s out of his own swing before he’s aware of moving, climbing into Richard’s lap, his legs going around the older man’s waist, the chains of the swing biting into his thighs as he settles down but it doesn’t even matter because he’s still here, still kissing Richard. That’s all his brain can process right now.

“Misha,” Richard says, pulling away just long enough to laugh breathlessly. “ _Christ_ , what are we doing?”

Misha kisses him again quickly and rests his forehead against Richard’s, trying to catch his breath. “I thought you were ‘manning the fuck up and kissing me’. Can the discussion and the freaking out wait till later?” He shifts, can feel Richard’s hardness rubbing against him. “Please?”

“Not freaking out,” Richard says on a groan. “ _Really_ not freaking out.”

“Good. That’s good.” And then Misha swoops in again, capturing his lips while he tugs Richard’s shirt up, running a hand up his spine, making Richard arch into him with another of those delicious sounds.

“We’re in a kid’s playground, Misha, Jesus Christ.” But Richard doesn’t _really_ seem to be objecting when Misha’s other hand palms the erection straining against the front of his pants.

“No kids around,” Misha promises, moving to kiss Richard’s jaw, his neck, his collarbone.

“If we get arrested, _you’re_ calling Eric and explaining.”

Richard’s laughing even as he says it, and it vibrates through Misha, reverberates in his skull, and it’s not like they’re going to get very far here anyway because he’s already on the brink, too many months of waiting and too much passing between them to hold out. He grinds against Richard, the hand that had been rubbing his groin now slipping beneath the waistband of Richard’s pants.

Richard is trembling hard, rigid and tense and just as much on the edge as Misha is, and Misha’s fingers barely brush against him before he’s crying out, arching up into Misha and coming hard and fast and wet in his pants, and Misha himself is no better, because the sounds Richard’s making are driving him crazy.

Richard’s hand moves to cup him through his slacks, squeezes once, twice, and then without any warning at all, Misha’s coming too, and if he didn’t already feel like a teenager during this entire thing, he _definitely_ does now.

But, God, he can’t even bring himself to care, because Richard’s _here_ , breathing hard, a hand on the back of Misha’s neck pulling him down so their foreheads are resting together again, and Misha inhales his scent, breathes Richard in like he can keep him there if he just takes in enough of him.

“Y’know, I don’t normally put out on the first date,” Richard says after a time, and Misha knows he’s got the quirky half-smile on his face, even if he refuses to pull away enough to actually see it.

“Good thing this wasn’t technically a date then, huh?” he replies. “And I didn’t even manage to really get in your pants, even _with_ the epic tiramisu.”

Richard snorts. “Guess you’re just gonna have to try harder next time, aren’t you?”

Misha tilts Richard’s head up, kisses him, far more gently than he thinks either of them expected. “I’m looking forward to it.”

He means more than just the sex, and judging by the soft look in Richard’s eyes when he replies with, “Me, too,” he’s fully on board.

And then Richard smiles, and Misha forgets everything for a while, except for how much he desperately wants to keep kissing this man.

So he does.


End file.
